


Small Victories

by Morpheus626



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 09:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1935714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a variety of perspectives one could look through during the time Thorin's Company spent in Rivendell, on their way to reclaim Erebor. No one would ever be likely to ask Lindir for his perspective, but that doesn't mean it shouldn't be shared--so here it is. One of the days Lindir can list as a victory in his book--only a few hundred things destroyed, and his Lord Elrond kept happy, despite any of their guests' actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Victories

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this piece in the works for awhile--I wanted to do something from Lindir's perspective in this time, because he's the one who must see so much of the really crazy stuff that goes on in Rivendell. It was incredibly fun to get into Lindir's (presumed) head-space, and to create a few new silly moments during this portion of the story, which I hope will be liked. 
> 
> As always: these characters, these places, and most of these plot lines are not mine. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson and his fantastic crew. I'm simply borrowing all of it for a bit of fun. 
> 
> I appreciate every read, kudos, and comment that I get :) If you'd like to talk to me about this story or Middle-earth or elves or whatever, I can be reached via the comments here or on my blog: www.itsalwaysprettiestafterthefall.tumblr.com
> 
> Thanks to anyone who reads, and I hope you enjoy this!

If Lindir could say anything regarding the visit of Thorin Oakenshield and his company, it was that he tried incredibly hard to be polite to all of them. Even the one with the star-shaped hair that kept stealing knick-knacks, and the large one that kept sneaking off to the kitchens and making away with cheeses and cakes. Not to mention the younger ones he found wandering in the armory, and the one that had hidden himself in the library. And he could handle them, in small doses like that. Little incidents here and there were irritating, but not the end-all of his sanity. 

This changed with the fountain. 

It wasn’t a particularly special fountain, though nearly all the fountains were regarded as such by one elf or another in Rivendell. To Lindir however, this fountain was not something to spend time worrying over. He had far enough to do in the day-to-day; he couldn’t just go adding worries and quandaries at every leap if he was to keep his health and his sanity. This carefully-tailored habit was torn asunder by the dwarves of Thorin’s company. 

They were all nude. Extremely nude. More nude than Lindir felt any dwarf need be if they were to be within a mile of him. The sight stopped him in his tracks, and Lord Elrond followed suit—though Lindir was a bit worried that he could not read Elrond’s face to decipher what he might be feeling about their new predicament. There was frustration which flashed to exasperation which turned to what must have been a whole tumult of different emotions—Lindir stopped trying to figure out Elrond’s mind and instead turned to his own actions earlier that day. 

* * *

He had been put in charge of tending to the dwarves. 

“Whatever they need; they shall have. The halls might be a bit more scuffed and dirty for their presence but I will not deny them any help. I know I can trust this task to you.” Elrond had sounded so dreadfully confident, as if the dwarves would behave themselves and not make Lindir’s life a living nightmare. 

Lord Elrond had been wrong. 

The hours that had led up to the event of the fountain had been the most frustrating and tiring of Lindir’s long life. First was the demand for food—any food, and all food. Despite dinner being so near, he had obliged and sent servants off to gather as much food as they could carry from the pantries. Even then, the dwarf named Bombur had insisted upon sneaking back and taking his own pick of their food-stores. He had patiently explained to Lindir that he wanted a “back-up dinner” as he assumed that what the elves had to offer would never be enough for the company. Even then Lindir had known the dwarf was right, but somehow could not let himself admit that fact. Instead, he had thrown up his hands and let Bombur raid the pantries as he saw fit. 

But the food had only been the beginning—after that there were cries for entertainment. 

“My Lord Elrond has assured me our finest musicians will be present at dinner.” Lindir had stuttered quickly (not bothering to mention that he had been left out of the selection of musicians, and was feeling rather bitter about it.) 

The dwarf named Bofur had traipsed his way to stand toe-to-toe with Lindir at that. “Yes, that’s all fine and well—but what of the time until dinner? If we are to truly relax and rest, then there must be some entertainment.” 

The company had all murmured in agreement, barring Thorin Oakenshield and the hobbit Bilbo Baggins. Thorin had let his head smack heavily against the wall upon which he was leaning, and looked as though he might burst a blood vessel in his clear irritation with the situation they were in. Bilbo had merely looked to Lindir and shrugged his shoulders, as if to say that this was all going to go the way the dwarves wished it to—and there was nothing Lindir could do about it. 

So Lindir had gone in search of entertainers. However, no one wanted to entangle themselves in Lindir’s problem, and so many had hidden in their rooms or, most ridiculously, behind pillars and bookshelves as he walked past. He pretended not to see anyone, even those plainly obvious to his eyes. He couldn’t blame them for hiding. It had come down to him then, to entertain the dwarves. He had found his harp and returned with hope in his heart that his songs might silence the guests for a time. His hope was wasted. 

The dwarves snickered at the love songs, and yawned exaggeratedly during the tales of battle. Lindir found he was exhausting most of his favorite songs and stories, including his own compositions. There was, however, one piece which he had only played during his occasional travels (oftentimes as a messenger but once or twice simply for his own enjoyment.) The composition was bawdy, and spoke of lust and many other topics that tended to turn the tips of his ears red, but he was proud of it nonetheless. In Bree he had been told by a tavern-owner that his song rivaled some of the bawdiest and inappropriate songs written by men—and there was a perverse pride to be found in that compliment. It was the final arrow left in his quiver, and so Lindir played it with all his heart for the gathered dwarves. 

What had started out as raucous yelling had turned into blank silence as the song progressively got filthier and nastier, and Lindir was extremely pleased as he watched his audience start to squirm and blush with each new verse. Normally he was a bit embarrassed by how long the piece was, but now it was a strength to him. By the time he had reached the final verse he was blushing not out of embarrassment, but out of joy. He had successfully made the dwarves feel as uncomfortable as they had made him feel. 

It was only after that joy started to wear off that he realized his rather loud singing had attracted more than a few citizens and other guests—including Lord Elrond and Gandalf. He suddenly felt incredibly ashamed of himself, and stared at his harp as though it might somehow be able to save him from his embarrassment. 

After another beat of pure and painful silence, Elrond began to laugh. Loudly, and without abandon. This triggered Gandalf, who had been just barely holding back a smile since they had begun listening to Lindir’s performance. From there, the rest of the assembled crowd lost their composure as well. Even the stateliest among them, such as Glorfindel, were bent over and weeping from laughter. Lindir wasn’t sure if he ought to continue to be embarrassed, or if this was a sign in his favor. 

By now the dwarves had lost any sense of dignity about them, and the youngest ones seemed to be the most affected. Fili had fallen laughing against Kili, who had in turn flopped against a blushing but giggling Ori, who had then gone tumbling into the rest of the pile of laughing dwarves. Bofur regained his composure first, and strode quickly to Lindir, wiping tears from his eyes as he went. 

“I know elves keep their secrets, as do we, but you’ll need to be writing down that particular ballad for us—I’d say Ori would write it down if you would sing it again, but I don’t think the lad’s concentration is towards the pen during such tales if you catch my meaning—“ 

Ori pulled his way to the top of the pile of dwarves, and somehow blushed even harder than before. “I am more than capable of scribing it!” 

“So you’re excited to hear it again, are you then?” Bofur raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Ori sunk back into the dwarf-pile in embarrassment. The rest of the company roared with laughter—even Thorin and Bilbo. Though Lindir had noted that Bilbo had not blushed at all during the song or after— he knew the hobbit had mentioned songs of his own writing, and wondered if perhaps the small creature had managed to write something even filthier. Lindir wasn’t entirely certain if he wanted to know that fact or not. 

After Bofur broke the odd shared laughing fit, people had started to drift away, happy and still giggling. Lindir was incredibly grateful for that; there were suddenly too many eyes on him it seemed. From the balcony, Elrond had motioned for Lindir to join himself and Gandalf (who was still giggling and looked so damned pleased with himself for some reason…) 

“Normally, I would ask that you bring such…interesting pieces to my attention before performing them. However—it would seem you’ve managed peace with our guests. I’m quite grateful to you for keeping things under control—and winning a bet for me.” Elrond smirked and laid his open palm out towards Gandalf, who sighed and placed a small sack of coins there. 

“I had wagered to your lord that you would not last the night before abandoning the task of looking after the Company—you have proved me wrong, however, and in a most colorful way!” Gandalf said, seeming not to care that he had lost the bet and his coin. “I’m sure they’ll not be much more trouble yet tonight. After dinner I’m sure they’ll quiet down…” 

* * *

Oh, if only Gandalf had been right. Yet there the dwarves stood and splashed, in all their natural glory. Elrond seemed to have reached his breaking point now, as he stared in bewilderment at their guests. 

“Well. I had hoped that I would not need to speak to Gandalf as to the behavior of our guests, but it would seem that hope was ill-placed. Lindir, if you—“ 

“My lord—wait for a moment, please. Before we take any other action, may I try something?” Lindir interrupted. 

Elrond nodded grimly, and watched as Lindir strode to stand at the edge of the fountain. 

“Erm—if I could have your attention please?” Lindir said, trying to project his voice but not wanting to yell. Not a single dwarf looked to him. 

“I’m sorry but I must insist in interrupting your fun…” Lindir continued. Still, he was ignored. 

“Oi, I am trying to save your currently very bare skins!” Lindir yelled, out of patience with them all. This got their attention—the Company members stood stock still where they were, staring puzzled at Lindir. 

He hadn’t actually expected that to work. Lindir turned and looked to Elrond, who had his eyebrows raised in surprise, but nodded for Lindir to continue. 

“This fountain—it is not for swimming, or bathing. We have other areas for both of those activities, so if you will follow me I can—“ Lindir paused as Thorin, who stood just a foot or so away from him, raised a hand in protest. 

“What is so important about this fountain that it could not be used for this? Would you not rather such beautiful work be used and admired?” Oakenshield smirked and looked to the rest of the Company to back him up—which they did, nodding quickly. 

Lindir sighed in frustration. “Because, that fountain is for looking at from a distance, and admiring in that way.” 

This didn’t seem to satisfy any of the dwarves, who started to turn back towards what they had been doing before Lindir’s intrusion. 

Lindir knew he couldn’t have that. “Well, then I suppose I cannot write down my ballad from earlier—unless you could do me a favor by removing yourselves from the fountain.” 

That proved to be magic. Thorin hurriedly motioned for everyone to clamber out of the pool and gather their clothes, which were strewn about the edge of the fountain. Lord Elrond motioned for the dwarves to follow him, and he began to lead them towards the bathing quarters, smiling and quickly waving to Lindir as he left. 

Lindir pulled Thorin aside just before he could disappear after the rest of the Company and Elrond. “That is what got you out of our fountain? Really?” 

Thorin grinned. “Indeed. We intend to ask our burglar to sing it while we finish our journey—and then to teach it to our bards, so we may continue to sing it amongst ourselves. We’ll need it written down though—in case Master Baggins cannot memorize it as quickly as we wish.” 

Lindir had to smile at that. “That is horrid of you—though; I’d wager you’ll not get the hobbit to blush by singing it.” He motioned for Thorin to follow after him as he walked towards the bathing quarters. “I noticed he did not blush at all when I was performing it. I’d wager he’s written songs of his own that might be worse.” 

Thorin scoffed. “He is more a grocer than a bard or a burglar. What makes you think he has written bawdier?” 

As they arrived at the bathing area, Lindir turned to face Thorin (despite the dwarf’s unabashed nudity). “Because he did not blush. And because he smiled as he listened in a way that was not altogether innocent. Talk to him—you might have more than just my song to teach your bards when you are done.” 

With that, Lindir trotted off and left the dwarf to his bath and the noise and clamor of the rest of the Company. Maybe tonight hadn’t been perfect—it might have even been kind of bad at portions (dinner had certainly been…interesting) but they had made it through. And while the dwarves might not win as his most favorite guests ever, they could not be called boring—and Lindir was happy to find he could handle their insanity, in the end. After the dwarves were all back in their rooms, Lindir thought he might just “forget” to lock the library and pantry for the night—the larder was full to bursting, so a bit more gone to Bombur and the others would not be missed, and the youngest-looking one had been so in love with the library (almost more so than the hobbit) that it would seem a travesty not to let the lad have one last look around. 

And so Lindir ended his night happy in the realization that he would be able to sleep without worrying about their guests—a welcomed rarity and a well-deserved one.


End file.
